IRISH OR SCOTTISH PAPA WAS A ROLLING STONE

The clouds had just turn grey in the sky grey also was the expression on my grandfather face, got to get that cocoa inside he shouted, You could hear the sounds of rusty wheels as they travel on narrow rails making their way beneath the house as fast as they could go
Gracious that was close mumble Steve my grandfather’s trusted companion and worker, another minute and today’s crop of cocoa would be lost, Me and the boys call him Papa for he was the only father we had known he was a man full of brilliance a born leader to early before his time
I followed him to London Derry and then to Moreau we tarry a while only to slowly move again I heard that he had Irish or Scottish blood in his veins, but I know that Papa was a rolling stone, It has been whispered that he had a wife and family once, but the call of the road was too strong and go he must and if you should ask him why he would blame the wide road and the sky
Where we walk to school each day Carib children use to play, up the hill and down the valley we trod on day by day seeking knowledge, You are too kind Mr. Bill one woman would say as she raised her sack load of grapefruits God’s blessing on you sir, indeed my grandfather was blessed
His work was never done throughout his youth and into his twilight years he made his presence known strong as a lion and as cunning as a fox my grandfather had no equal. As the years slowly drift on by like his father before him implanted in my heart he left a legacy unmatched unequal and untouched
To Papa Bill: blood guts and tears